The Last Door To Close
© 1999 Blondemind, Lorien96

"Remember when you leave to shut the door."

"Yeah, yeah and look both ways when I cross the street. How many times do you think you have to tell me that, Gigi?" The young man looked at his grandmother with mock exasperation.

"As many times as you need to hear it Will Tarrington. Now be gone with you, and don't forget to shut the door!" The old woman smiled at her newly graduated grandson who had driven her back to the nursing home after his cap and gown ceremony. He was so tall, so young, so full of promise, and yes, so handsome. So much like his grandfather, her late husband and Will's namesake.

Will left the nursing home and walked to his car. He laughed as he thought of his grandmother and all the times she reminded him to shut a door, look when crossing the street, kiss his mother goodbye -- the list went on and on. How he wished his grandfather could have been here today. For that matter it would have been nice if his own father had bothered to show up to. He probably was closing a major deal and forgot about the time, Will thought to himself. Oh well, he could watch the video later tonight when he came home.

Will got in his car and headed for the graduation party. It was hard to believe that high school was over. College in the fall would come all too soon. He was a man now and ready to make his mark on the world.

Instead, the world would mark Will.

At the party, Jon pushed a beer into Will's hand. "Ya need this, bud. Practice up for those keggers this fall!" Will hated the taste of beer, especially warm and flat beer, like this one. Not wanting to seem prissy though, he sipped the cheap brew. It did go down well, especially after today's tension.

First, there was his girlfriend, who'd announced during cap-and-gown pictures that she'd enrolled in a private college out east. Then inexplicably she said she couldn't join him tonight; she was "busy."

Then his grandmother -- he found her looking deathly pale. She'd tried to cluck at Will as she normally would, but she lacked her normal energy. Will thought she looked like Grandpa right before he died.

Then Will's father -- where the hell had he been during the graduation ceremony? When Will's mom died, Dad had promised to be both mother and father to Will, but first Dad threw himself into his work, and later began seeing a girl only a few years older than Will. Which had priority today, the job or the blonde?

Will poured himself another beer. Numbness sounded good right now.

Three beers, four, then five, Will's mood got blacker. Jon slapped him on the back. "This isn't a funeral pal," he said jocularly. "Stop looking so down. Other people here want to have fun!"

Suddenly Will was irritated. He pulled away and headed for his car, leaving Jon dumbfounded by this uncharacteristic moodiness.

Will never knew exactly what happened. Distracted, he ran off the road, jerked the car back on, and suddenly faced headlights like beacons in the night. He froze. Then the pain began.

The last thing he heard was the ambulance door closing.

Hiding Behind a Computer Screen
© 1999 Furbett, SharZ1

I sit in my own little corner of the world. Poised like a monarch in an oversized high backed chair, my fingers depress keys and words magically appear on a monitor. Sometimes, the words are greetings to anonymous names on the screen. Other times, words craft themselves into poetry and prose, the judgment of which becomes how we are known.

My fingers seem to move on their own as more and more letters appear in a specific sequence. Is it an autonomic reflex? Does the computer define my character? Is what is written a representation of reality? Is this medium an emotionless scientific representation, or is it able to transfer the nuances of heart, mind and soul into a small block on a bulletin board?

I don't know. What I do know, is that I feel more me than I ever have before. Each time I sit before this electronic goddess, I bow to how significant she makes me feel in a world in which I feel so small.

Am I hiding within my cocooned world, or am I simply getting ready for the metamorphosis into a butterfly -- able to spread new wings and fly to places I might never have gone, save for this?

No matter the naysayers who attempt to persuade me otherwise. I cannot leave behind something that makes my mind crisper, allows me to feel my heart beating within my chest, or that makes me feel my soul ever stronger.

I am here to stay.

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